


This Isn't How it's Supposed to Go

by thefrankydoyles



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 05:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10609995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefrankydoyles/pseuds/thefrankydoyles
Summary: POST 5.02- CONTAINS SPOILERS.When Bridget comes home from one of the worst days of her life, there's a tiny part of her that expects Franky to be there.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of a singular episode inciting way too many feelings for my own good. Hope that everyone is enjoying having these two back on our screens again, (finally!) even if we get our hearts ripped out each week...

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

Bridget turned her key into the front door and pushed it open, half expecting to hear the usual music blaring from the stereo. The simmer of the stove. The buoyant, resounding “ _heya_ ” from down the hallway.

She half-expected to kick off her heels, bound into the kitchen, and wrap her arms around the woman standing by the sink- but not before sneaking a taste of the homemade sauce on the stove.

She half-expected to pour a glass of wine and plead with the woman still fussing with their food to tell Bridget about her day, because her own day had gone to shit.

She half-expected to enjoy that no-doubt delicious meal- better than anything any five-star restaurant would cook up-  before taking her love's outstretched hand into the bedroom, where they could shut out the rest of this fucked up world. Where they were untouchable to anyone and everything else but each other.

But that wasn’t what happened.

Instead, Bridget walked into a dark, empty, house, compounded with a silence so deafening she thought the walls themselves were screaming at her.

Screaming at her that this isn’t how this is supposed to go.

Bridget entered the kitchen and flicked on the light, sighing as she forced herself to glance around the room. The room that, if she were honest with herself, belonged more to Franky than it ever did to her. And the evidence was there. Franky's used coffee mug in the sink from the previous morning, hastily thrown in as she yelled down to the bedroom on her way out the door.

_I have to go, Gidge, I’m late! I’ll see ya tonight though, Spunky, hey? Have a great day, I love ya!_

Her law books and _Legal Relief_ papers were still strewn along the countertop, and her favorite pair of black boots were tossed in the middle of the floor.

When Bridget had walked through the kitchen the previous morning, she was annoyed at the materialized tornado that Franky had left in her bustling wake. But Bridget was running late yesterday too, and she didn’t have time to clean up the mess.

She was so fucking thankful for that now. So fucking thankful, that there was such evidence of Franky’s presence, because she didn’t think she could bear it if the kitchen was just as spotless as the rest of the house.

Bridget slumped down at the counter, sighing as her head collapsed into her hands.

She was so tired.

She picked her head up, running her fingers through her short blonde locks before glancing at the calendar that hung on the refrigerator, and the red ink that was written on tomorrow’s date.

 _Tess’s_ _Play_ _-_ _12:00_

Shit.

Between everything that had happened, Bridget completely forgot about Tess’s play at her preschool. Franky had been so excited to go, she nearly cried when Tess handed her the tickets, beaming at her as she asked “Franky, will you and Bridgie please come to my show?”

Bridget would still go. She had to. Franky would want her to. But what the fuck was she going to tell that little girl? That her big sister was sick? That she had to go away?

 _That she wishes so much that she could be here, but she’s not_ _, and she is so sorry. So very sorry._

Bridget wasn’t sure how long she sat at the damn counter. An hour, maybe? Two? She needed to get some sleep, because if she didn’t, how would she be of any use to anyone? How would she get through tomorrow?

She just couldn’t stand the thought of climbing into their soft, warm bed. Not tonight.  Not tonight, when all she would think about is Franky lying in that tiny, desolate cell, anxious and scared out of her mind. Alone.

But then what would tomorrow night be like? And the night after that?

Bridget shook her head and forced herself to walk into the bedroom. She needed her pajamas, after all.

But of course, when she walked into the room, she didn’t go straight to her dresser, and take out what she needed, and leave, like she knew she should have. No, instead, her eyes landed on the t-shirt sticking out from Franky’s pillow in the bed, and before she knew it, before she was conscious of her legs or arms moving, she was clutching that t-shirt; holding onto it for dear life.

To be fair, the shirt wasn’t Franky’s. It had originally been Bridget’s, an old t-shirt from uni that Franky decided was hers not long after she had been paroled.

“I don’t have any pajamas,” she had explained off-handedly, and Bridget accepted the explanation with a smile, and she never wore that t-shirt again. Until tonight apparently.

Bridget ripped off her work clothes that reeked of sterile prison and tugged on the old shirt, instantly feeling engulfed by the woman she loved. It smelled like her, it felt like her. And this was the closest thing she was going to get to the real deal. Maybe for a while.

Bridget’s legs suddenly felt akin to jelly and she collapsed onto the bed.

Franky lied to her, plain and simple. And she was hurt, she was so goddamn hurt, but if she were honest with herself, she knew exactly why Franky did it. Bridget believed Franky, when she told her that she was only trying to protect her. Only trying to keep this shit out of the perfect life that they had created together, the life that Franky was so sure was going to get taken from her.

But Bridget would be damned if she let that happen.

No matter how big Franky had fucked up, no matter how hard Bridget wished that Franky would have just told her everything from the beginning- because they were partners in every sense of the word, for fuck's sake, weren't they?- it didn’t matter.

What was it that she told Franky yesterday?

_Baby, hold on, okay? Just hold tight, the both of us._

Bridget laid down on the bed and curled herself around Franky’s pillow, as if her body was magnetized to the soft fabric. She held onto the pillow, inhaling Franky’s scent, and her former plan of sleeping on the couch all but disintegrated.

A single tear fell down from Bridget’s cheek onto the pillow, but she shook the rest of the emotion out of her eyes before the tear led to the waterfall behind the dam.

_Hold on, baby. Just hold on._

Before the exhaustion that wracked her sleepless body finally took hold, she made a mental checklist for the following day.

This wasn’t anywhere near over, not by a long shot. Franky would be back in this bed, in the exact spot Bridget was lying in, in no time.

But until then, she would keep the spot warm.

Because this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.


End file.
